


In the Beginning

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Harold high on E will never not be fantastic, Harold/Nathan is my headcanon, I love Will because he gives Harold hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after (spoilers up to 1x18).</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Beginning

Harold wakes up to a headache, a dry mouth and vague memories of the past twelve hours. That and he aches all over, every muscle and articulation in his body so stiff and uncooperative that he has to take a moment to breathe through the pain, wheezing at the library ceiling.

What did he _do_ last night? 

He remembers Jordan. He had truly enjoyed their conversation – it’s not every day that Harold meets someone who shares similar interests to his own. He is fully aware that he is a somewhat peculiar man with very specific tastes and he rarely has the time or will to socialise anyway. 

…which probably explains why he was such a terrible judge of character and ended up high on ecstasy. Yes, he remembers that part.

The memories that follow her drugging him are a rather confusing mix of shiny lights and sparkles and dancing – well, that and the drug’s side effects would certainly explain the stiffness. Fusco was there too, he thinks – something about the Pentagon? Dear God, he hopes he didn’t attempt that old trick again, how embarrassing – and Nathan. 

He remembers Nathan. 

Which makes no sense, why–

“How are you feeling, Finch?”

John. Of course it was John. Nathan is dead, has been dead for two years and Harold is never going to see him again and– 

He shuts the door on that line of thought like the machine some have accused him of being and glances at John who’s crouching next to his cot – John whom his incapacitated brain thought was Nathan, and for some reason that makes him discard his reflexive ‘I’m quite well, thank you’ to settle on something closer to the truth.

“I feel terrible, Mr. Reese.”

John raises an eyebrow at him and hands him a bottle of water with a murmured “I did tell you to drink your water”. Which he did, Harold remembers, just as he remembers getting distracted by the books in his vicinity and the sudden need to take them off the shelves so they could get better acquainted. 

Not one of his finest moments.

Harold accepts the bottle gratefully, feeling incredibly thirsty all of a sudden, and then realizes he isn’t quite sure whether he’s going to be able to manoeuvre himself into a seating position. John seems to sense his predicament and offers him an arm, which Harold takes after a split second hesitation. He uses it to haul himself upright with a grunt and twists around to put his back against the wall, thankful for the support it offers.

“I trust you took care of things on your end?” he asks after downing the bottle with a wince and Reese frowns at him.

“Yes. Your Jordan is on her way to jail. We gave two innocent men their life back.”

“Good, that’s good,” Harold says a little absently, looking around for his glasses and startling when Reese’s hand appears in front of him.

“Here, take these,” the man says, handing him a couple of pills and more water.

“Really, more drugs, Mr. Reese? Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Harold asks drily but swallows them anyway.

“I don’t know, Finch, I hear you’ve got some moves when you’re under the influence.” Reese’s voice has that teasing, almost fond quality that never ceases to take Harold by surprise and he gives him a pointed look that does nothing to hide his amusement.

“Anything else you’d like to share?”

Reese’s lips twist in an aborted smile. “Nope, but you might want to check with Fusco next time you talk to him just to be sure.”

“Believe me, I will.” _And delete all recordings of the event,_ he adds mentally to Reese’s apparent delight. Of course the man guessed what he was thinking. Harold wouldn’t put it past him to have already secured his own tape. It is rather… unfortunate.

“What time is it?” he asks. It’s not the smoothest change of subject but his watch is yet another thing he seems to have misplaced during last night’s adventures and he does need to know.

“Almost noon.”

Harold nods to himself, computing the list of things he needs to do. Check the machine for a new number first and then get himself a new cell phone and earpiece – this should be simple enough, he’s got quite a few back-ups in storage. Mr. Reese does tend to go through them rather quickly. After that he needs–

“Come on,” Reese says, interrupting his thoughts as he stands and Harold looks at him questioningly. “A hot shower will help.”

It does seem tempting except–

“I need a computer first.”

“Fair enough.”

He doesn’t offer his arm this time and Harold is relieved to find that he can get to his feet without assistance. Walking is not a particularly pleasant experience, his limp more pronounced than usual but he’s had worse days. And if it takes him a little longer to make his way to the computer room, well. There is no shame in it. 

Reese mostly leaves him to it although Harold is aware of his presence just out of eye- and earshot. It’s John’s version of hovering and Harold decides to allow it. It’s been a while since anyone’s worried about him – although John probably wouldn’t qualify it as ‘worrying’ – and it’s not the easy give-and-take he had with Nathan after three decades of knowing each other but considering the man and their complicated relationship it is oddly endearing. 

There are no new numbers, which is a relief, and Harold sets a new phone to charge before heading for the shower. He had had it installed when it became clear that all-nighters would be part of the job and Reese’s tendencies to come back bloody and in need to wash-up have made it even more of a necessity.

The hot water does help – that and the combination of painkillers and muscle relaxants he’s taken – and with nothing pressing to do Harold allows himself to spend longer under the spray than he normally would. When he gets out he finds his spare clothes along with his glasses and his watch waiting for him – Reese must have rescued them from wherever he left them the night before.

He gets dressed a little stiffly and comes out of the bathroom to find John slouched low on a chair a few feet away, reading. The sight is unexpected – despite his many encouragements and the fact that they more or less live in a library he doesn’t think he’s ever seen John with a book before.

The man looks up when Harold steps out of the bathroom but doesn’t put the book down and Harold raises an eyebrow at the title. Reese shrugs with another of his half-smiles. “It seemed appropriate.”

“Indeed,” Harold says wryly and John’s smile widens for a second before he turns serious again.

“I found this inside.” He holds a piece of paper out in Harold’s direction. “I thought you might want it back.”

For a brief moment Harold has no idea what it is and he takes the offering with a slight frown. Then he turns it over and he can’t breathe.

“Thank you, Mr. Reese,” he manages to say, keeping his voice even by strength of will only. “If you’ll excuse me, there is something I have to do,” he adds, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his office.

He doesn’t wait for Reese’s nod of assent, doesn’t even see it, and makes his way blindly back to his computers, almost walking into a shelf because he can’t take his eyes off the picture. It’s been ages since he’s seen it – in fact he had thought he had lost it – but now it’s here in his hands and his throat feels tight all of a sudden. 

Back in the safety of his office, Harold sits down heavily in his chair and finally tears his gaze away long enough to turn it over, tracing the words gently. _In the beginning_ indeed. They had been so young back then, high on life and friendship. It had been just the two of them against the world, egging each other on. It had been the first – and only – time Harold had had a friend who could keep pace with him, who just smiled at his idiosyncrasies and shrugged at his paranoia. Nathan hadn’t found him weird – or maybe he had but he had accepted him the way he was anyway. Harold misses that unconditional acceptance and support, being secure in the knowledge that there will always be someone there for him, no matter what.

He just misses Nathan.

Shaking himself off – he’s been maudlin enough for today – Harold takes out his wallet, intent on taking the picture with him, before changing his mind and setting it down carefully next to his computer screen. It might as well stay here for now. Mr. Reese has seen it already and Harold is under no illusion that he doesn’t know who _N.I._ is. The man is anything but stupid.

Impulsively he calls up one of his live surveillance feeds – though technically those cameras don’t exist – and just watches for a few seconds before taking his new phone and dialling a familiar number.

“Hey, Will,” he says. On the screen Will smiles and Harold helplessly smiles back, something inside him loosening already.

“Hi, Uncle Harold.”

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” He already knows the answer but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“Nah, it’s been a slow day,” Will says before adding with a grimace, “Though I’ve probably jinxed it now.”

“How are you?”

“Good, I’m very good. Things are going great here.”

He looks relaxed and happy and Harold nods to himself, satisfied. That’s all he ever wanted for the boy ever since Nathan put him in his arms despite his mildly panicked protests when he was just a few minutes old – all Nathan ever wanted too. He knows that if Nathan were still here he would be nagging his son to finish his residency but he would be proud too, and so is Harold.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“What about you? Got anything exciting planned for today? It’s, what, lunch time in New York?”

There is something more than simple curiosity behind the pointed question: just like he’s tried to take on Nathan’s role in Will’s life, Will unconsciously mirrors his father at times. He spent enough time around the two of them to pick up on some of their banter. 

It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

“Nothing exciting. I may have lunch with a… friend,” Harold almost stumbles on the word and of course Will catches it, coming to the wrong conclusion.

“A friend, uh?” he asks with a grin that’s pure Nathan and Harold scowls at him through the screen even though he can’t see it.

“Yes, a _friend_.”

“That’s good. Listen, I have to come to New York in a couple of months, maybe I could meet your ‘friend’ then.”

“Absolutely not!” Harold blurts out, finding that prospect slightly horrifying. There are many reasons for which he hopes Will and Reese never meet and after last night, he can add another one to the list. Will knows too many embarrassing stories and John is a skilled interrogator – he would like to preserve _some_ dignity, thank you very much.

Will bursts out laughing and Harold adds grudgingly, “But I’ll be glad to see you.”

“Me too.”

There is a commotion in the background and Will turns around while Harold switches cameras to see what’s happening.

“Listen, I’ve got to go,” Will says as someone calls his name. “We’ve got patients coming in. I did jinx it. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Be careful,” Harold can’t stop himself from admonishing and Will grins. 

“I always am,” he says before hanging up and Harold snorts – that is obviously a lie – watching for a few more minutes before turning the feed off, looking down at the picture.

“He’s doing fine,” he tells it. “We both are.”

Then he stands. There is something else he has to do.

 

Reese hasn’t moved from where Harold left him – in fact he would bet he’s still on the same page as he was earlier.

“How are you finding it?” he asks because he likes keeping him on his toes.

Reese shrugs with a hint of a grin. “I’m not much of a book person but this isn’t bad.”

Harold refrains from commenting further and clasps his hands together in front of him. 

“Thank you.”

Reese looks at him steadily. “You said that already,” he says mildly and Harold shakes his head.

“No, I meant– For not asking questions. When I was… incapacitated.”

John nods. “Don’t mention it.”

Harold nods back and an awkward silence ensues until Harold finally gives in.

“Would you like to get some food?”

The offer seems to take John by surprise although he hides it well, the merest lift of an eyebrow the only thing betraying him.

“Sure,” he says, closing the book and setting it down carefully. He stands. “After all you do owe me lunch,” he adds with a hint of teasing.

“I do not!” Harold sputters.

John smiles a challenge. “Oh really?”

“I distinctly remember getting into that apartment before you.”

“But you wouldn’t have made it out without me,” John points out.

“That wasn’t part of the bet.”

“Maybe it should have been.”

“Well it was _your_ bet, Mr. Reese. You should have laid down the terms more carefully,” Harold says a little smugly and John inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“I will next time.”

 

They have Indian – of course. It’s… nice. And it may not be the same as what Harold had with Nathan but it is something. 

Or the beginning of it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal.


End file.
